


What Was Right In Front Of Him

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confusion, Dating, Explicit Sexual Content, Fun, Gift, M/M, Series 1, Very Silly Flatmate, museum, prank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 11:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is famous for his ability to observe closely. This doesn’t mean, though, that he can always see what was right in front of him.





	1. The Museum

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> We aim to update once a month. All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, we hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

"Sherlock?" John hurried up the steps of their flat, looking into the kitchen first before calling out again.

Sherlock came out of his bedroom. "Why are you shouting?" he asked, calmly walking by him. "Why isn't the kettle on?"

"I got us tickets -- I thought we could go to the museum," John said, ignoring his question. "They have a special exhibit. It’s like the original Human Body Exhibit but in this showing they're focusing on murders. Bodies posed in the different ways people have died and things like that."

Sherlock glanced over. "What's this all about?" he asked suspiciously.

"I just thought it sounded fun . . . like the kind of thing you would be interested in.”

"Well, I am," Sherlock said. "But I'm still thirsty. Can I be interested and thirsty simultaneously? It seems possible." He moved over and turned on the kettle.

"Yes, have your precious tea,” John said. “I thought we could go around seven, so maybe we could have an early dinner before?"

"All right," Sherlock said, pouring two cups of tea. "You're full of plans this evening. Have you finished the blog thing you were going to do or is all of this just to get out of doing that?"

"It’s mostly finished. I will touch it up tomorrow and post it," John said. "No more working tonight. Fun instead."

Sherlock looked at John curiously as he handed him his tea. He sat down on his chair. "Did you have a bad day at the surgery or something?"

"What? No," John said. "I told you, I saw the exhibit and I thought it would be fun."

Sherlock looked over at him. He couldn't help but smile. "You seemed a bit obsessed with fun,” he said, taking a sip of tea. “But, all right, it does sound a bit fun. What food do you want to eat?"

"Hmm, how about Thai? It's been a while," John suggested. 

"Whatever you want," Sherlock said. He tipped the end of his tea into his mouth. "All right then, shall we go?"

"Yeah," John nodded. He grabbed his coat again and double checked for the tickets before they headed out. "We can walk to the restaurant and take a cab from there."

"All right," Sherlock said. "You certainly seemed to have thought of everything." He got up and slipped his coat over his shoulders. "Is it cold -- do I need my scarf?"

"Quite honestly, I never feel like a scarf is necessary, but you might as well take yours, Mr Delicate. It completes your look," John teased.

"I don't have a look," Sherlock said, tying it round his neck. "And your jumpers hardly qualify you as an expert on accessories." He pulled open the door and they headed out. 

"People love my jumpers," John said as they walked downstairs. "They're warm. And friendly."

"I hate to be the one to reveal this to you, but whoever told you that was lying," Sherlock said. He put his hands into his pockets. "It's freezing out here."

"I'm not going to take fashion advice from someone who regularly wears a bed sheet," John laughed. "And relax, the spicy Thai will warm you up."

When they arrived, Sherlock pulled the door open and let John go in first. They took a seat and Sherlock ordered a glass of wine at once. "To warm me up, like you said," he explained.

"I was hoping the food would do it," he smiled. "But I guess the wine works just as well." He got himself a glass, too.

"It will," Sherlock said. "So how was work? Okay?"

John nodded, telling Sherlock a bit about his day. It was boring so he didn't focus on that too long, switching instead to talk about the exhibit until the food arrived. 

Sherlock watched John take a few bites and then ate a little himself. Since John had moved in, food played a bigger role in Sherlock's life -- he was eating more, but it seemed like John usually almost always was. He'd acquired the habit of ordering whatever John did. It'd started simply because Sherlock knew his leftovers would be eaten, but in truth, John usually made good choices. Tonight's was no different -- even though Sherlock knew he'd never eat everything on his plate, he did enjoy the taste.

When they finished their food, as much as Sherlock could eat anyway, John took out his wallet to pay. "Ready?" he asked.

Sherlock quickly swallowed the last of his wine and then stood up, putting his coat on. They headed over. "Where'd you hear about this anyway?" he asked as they queued to get in.

" I saw some adverts about it when I was at lunch."

"You're quite clever," Sherlock smiled. When they got to the front, he pulled out his wallet to pay.

"I already have the tickets, Sherlock," John reminded him.

"You're paying for everything tonight," Sherlock said. "You're normally cheap -- why are you being so generous?"

"I am not cheap! I'm working now, so it's fine. Besides, it was my idea," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said. "I am happy to take advantage of whatever is going on." He gave him a wink. "Lead the way."

John smiled and they went inside. He really hoped Sherlock liked this. 

Sherlock quickly got sucked into the exhibits -- he recognised some cases and spent quite a bit of time filling John in on details that weren't included and were probably unnecessary. When he noticed a section of unsolved crimes, he pulled John over quickly. "Let's solve them," he said with a cheeky grin, and the two of them talked things through just as they did with their real cases.

"So have you figured it out?" he asked John.

John shook his head. He smiled up at Sherlock. "Tell me."

"His brother obviously," Sherlock said smugly. He pushed on John's arm a bit childishly. "But let's not tell them -- we don't want to spoil their fun."

John raised his brows in surprise. "That's new -- you caring about other people’s enjoyment," he said.

Sherlock pulled a face. "Shut up. You're the one who dragged fun into all this. Don't blame me -- I'm just following your lead."

"I'm not complaining! It’s quite nice of you." 

"It was -- I'm being rather nice, aren't I? Maybe I'm drunk but didn't realise," Sherlock teased. 

"Off one glass?" John laughed.

"Were you slipping something in my drink?" Sherlock laughed. He knew he wasn't really drunk, but he did seem to be acting quite stupid for some reason.

John laughed and shook his head, pulling Sherlock along to the next exhibit. It was someone who'd been poisoned, torso opened to see the details of the effects.

They walked through the rest of the museum, analysing, discussing, and occasionally laughing. As they made their way to the door, Sherlock looked over and said, "This was actually brilliant, John. Excellent idea."

John grinned proudly, trying not to look at Sherlock as he felt the heat bloom on his cheeks.


	2. The Morgue

"Yes, I love to solve cases, John Watson," Sherlock shouted. "But an end of a case without another one already in process does nothing but lead to boredom. If you cared in even the slightest, you'd know that already." He looked up and there was no movement from John’s room. He stomped upstairs and pushed open the door. "Why are you ignoring me?"

"Gotta go," John said into his phone before sticking it into his pocket. He turned quickly. "Sherlock! Don't just walk into my room."

"Sorry -- wait, what's going on?" Sherlock said. "What were you doing that's so private? Who was on the phone?"

"Nothing. No one. Let's go out," John said quickly, moving past Sherlock to go downstairs.

"Is something wrong? Is this a case?" Sherlock asked, following John.

"No questions, please. It's a surprise."

Sherlock grabbed his coat. "You're a control freak -- I'm going along with this but don't assume that means I like it," he said.

"You will.”

Sherlock smirked but followed John downstairs. When they got in the taxi, he looked over at John who was smiling smugly. Despite himself, Sherlock smiled back.

"I should have blindfolded you," John said.

"Pervert," Sherlock said.

John rolled his eyes. "Don't be cruel or I'll cancel it."

"What makes you think I meant it as an insult?" Sherlock said cheekily.

John shoved his arm as the cab pulled up to Bart's. "Follow me."

Sherlock looked round as if it were the first time he'd been there. "What's going on?" he asked, even though he was pretty sure John wasn't going to tell him.

John just took his hand and led him along the familiar way to the morgue. When he peeked inside, Molly was just putting the red bow on the bag.

"Hurry before someone sees that," she said.

"I know. Sorry. Thanks, Molly." John tugged Sherlock closer. "For you."

Sherlock followed John in. "What is this? What's going on?" he asked, looking to Molly who disappeared out of the room. Sherlock turned to John.

"Just open it so we can take the bow off of the poor man," John said quickly.

Sherlock moved over toward the table and pulled the bow off, sticking it to the top of John's head. He unzipped the bag and revealed the corpse of a middle-aged man with a round stomach and an odd tint to his skin. "Is the cause of death known?" he asked.

"That's all you," John said, putting the bow on Sherlock's arse. "He's orange. I know what does that. But the rest is yours."

"He is orange," Sherlock said, walking around the table, looking closely. "It's not a bad tan, though. A disease?"

John merely shrugged, grinning

Sherlock lifted the man's hands and inspected his fingertips and wrists. "Was he married?" he asked.

"You're the detective," John teased.

"Blood work done? Do I need to look at that?"

"Look at anything you need to," he said. "Molly says it's on file."

Sherlock moved over and picked up the file on the countertop, skimming the results. He thought hard and mumbled something to himself before returning to the body. "I was thinking overdose, but there were no drugs in his system and zero alcohol in his blood. Must be some kind of poison," he said. "Or rather a toxin." He bent down again, pressing a few times on the man's abdomen. "It wasn't a criminal act -- it was accidental, stupidity."

"Oh?" John grinned.

"Well, look at his face," Sherlock said, pointing. "He looks like an idiot." He glanced up at John. "Actually, there's a bit of resemblance . . . is he a relative of yours?" he teased.

John shot a rubber band at Sherlock. "Are you stumped? Raise your collar a bit higher," he said. 

"Shut up," Sherlock said. He stepped back and let his eyes scan the man's body from head to toe. "The colour is ridiculous." He shook his head a few times. "Wait a minute," he said and rushed back to the file. "High blood carotene . . ." he said under his breath. Then he turned around and smacked the file against his hand as he looked straight at John. "Carrots," he said confidently.

John grinned. "What a clever detective. You win," he said.

Sherlock smiled smugly. "What's my prize?" he asked.

"Hmm. I'll let you smoke half a cigarette on the way home," John said. 

"Excellent," Sherlock said smiling. He put his coat back on. "Are we heading off now? I'm not asking because of the smoking, I'm just wondering if you've got any other tricks up your sleeve."

"Tricks? This was a lovely present and you're welcome," John said.

"You're right actually -- it was lovely," Sherlock said. "Thank you."

John grinned and led the way out. "Let's have dinner to celebrate," he smiled.

"My treat this time," Sherlock said and gave John a wink.


	3. The Prank

"Have you been ignoring your brother?" John asked, looking at the message on his own phone.

"No, maybe, what does it matter?" Sherlock asked. "Has he been harassing you or are you now working for him or something?"

"He's harassing me. He wants to come over and you're not answering."

"Well, I'm sorry about that," Sherlock said, glancing over. "But as you know -- he is relentless and there appears to literally we nothing we can do to stop him so . . . turn your mobile off and we can just pretend he doesn't exist."

John was halfway through a reply when Sherlock spoke. He stopped typing. "You two have the oddest relationship," he said.

"No, we don't -- we don't have a 'relationship'," Sherlock said. "As far as I'm concerned he is irrelevant unless I need him which at the moment, I do not. That's how I feel about my bank manager -- I wouldn't say he and I have a relationship."

"Harry and I fight all the time, but it's still a relationship. You just find ways to cope."

"Well, I cope by ignoring him and he copes by texting you," Sherlock explained. He got up and started the kettle, setting out two mugs.

"Why can't you just prank each other like normal siblings?"

"Prank? What do you mean?"

"You know. Mess with each other, but not for real, so you can get it all out of your system and behave like normal people."

"Normal people may be too high of an aim," Sherlock said, bringing the tea over and handing a cup to John. "Could you give me an example, please?"

"Um . . . yeah. One time Harry broke my favourite game, so I poured itching powder in her knickers drawer. Took her two days to realise I had done something." He laughed at the memory.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That's very childish, John," he said. "When was this -- last year?"

John laughed louder. "No! But you can prank at any age. It's fun if you don't go too far."

"Too far? You mean murder's not an option?"

"No. How about I reply and we prank him right now?"

Sherlock looked over. "Maybe . . . but I don't think he wears pants -- they don't make them that small," he said with a little grin.

"We're not going to put itching powder him," John said, calling Mycroft. When he answered John said, "I need you to come over. It's Sherlock --" John looked at Sherlock and winked.

Sherlock still wasn't quite sure what John was doing, but he knew that the wink meant John was being cheeky and he quite liked when John was cheeky especially when he was doing it to someone else. He took a sip of tea and sat back to watch this play out.

"What's happened?" Mycroft asked.

John put Mycroft on speaker before he responded. "He's . . . it’s just easier if you come over. I don't really know what to do."

"How bad is he?”

"It's not what you're thinking,” John explained. “It's just . . . odd. You have to do something -- talk some sense into him."

Mycroft sighed loudly. "I’m on my way.”

John hung up. "Hurry," he said, tugging Sherlock up toward the stairs.

"What is happening?" Sherlock said, following John. "What am I supposed to do?" He was still confused but quite intrigued.

"I need you to wear . . ." John looked through his clothes and found a pale blue jumper. "This. And go to your costume closet and put on some boring trousers, khakis or something.”

Sherlock did just as John said, but it wasn't until he had his trousers off that he realised he still didn't understand the plan. He shouted John's name.

John poked his head in the door. "Get dressed!" 

Sherlock slipped on the ridiculous trousers and headed out into the kitchen. "Tell me what's going on," he said. "Is this just some ruse to make me look ridiculous? Because I do look ridiculous." He glanced in the mirror. "Oh my god, I look like you."

"Quiet," John said. "I don't wear khakis. Now, all you need to do is come into the living room talking about different empty properties. I know you know several around here, okay?" 

"What about them? Like places to hide or the squatters or what?" Sherlock asked. "John, this is supposed to be fun, but it's not fun when I don't know what's happening."

"Just talk about how much they'd be worth, getting them fixed up, things like that." The door shut downstairs. "He's here. Just listen, okay? And come out after my line -- you'll know it."

"You're lucky I trust you, John Watson," Sherlock said, stepping back a little to wait for his cue.

Mycroft came inside and looked around. "Where is my brother?"

"Look. I got up today and he was, well he's . . . I asked about any cases and he told me not to bother looking. Even told me to lose Greg's number because we wouldn't need him anymore."

Mycroft raised his brows. "Sorry?"

"I think your brother . . .” John said dramatically. “Look, Sherlock thinks he wants to be . . . an estate agent." John glanced at the kitchen.

Sherlock smiled. It was actually quite a clever prank. He slipped his phone from his pocket, held it up to his head, and stepped out. "Right -- two bedrooms, two baths . . . obviously no garden, we're not miracle workers, you know," he said, glancing up and nodding to his brother. "Four o'clock, fine, I think we can do that. See you then." He moved over to his desk and opened his laptop. He stared at it, but said, "And the purpose of your visit, Mycroft . . . ?"

Mycroft blinked at Sherlock. "What are you doing?"

"I've tried it all, Mycroft,” John interrupted. “He's dedicated. He wants me to change the blog to advertise properties, but we're definitely going to lose followers." 

"I'm training for a new career, brother," Sherlock said. "You've often mocked me for my unreliable income -- I've seen the light and am trying to be more responsible."

"An estate agent? Sherlock, for God's sake," Mycroft said. “Look at your clothing.” He crinkled his face in disgust.

"I'm as shocked as you are," John said dramatically.

"People need homes, Mycroft," Sherlock said. "If I can help them, why shouldn't I? As a detective, how did I really help my clients -- by finding out their spouses were cheating? What good did that do?" He looked over. "In this job, I can find financial security and . . . personal meaning. It warms my heart to find a family a place to grow. Caring about others is nice -- you really should try it sometime." He smiled stupidly. 

John lost it. He bent over as he laughed, holding his stomach. 

Mycroft looked over at John. Then he looked at Sherlock who was pulling a face. "Oh. Very funny. Hilarious,” he said. “If you could stop acting like children for five minutes, I do have something to talk to you about.” 

"Constant harassment is quite childish as well," Sherlock said. He pulled John's ridiculous jumper over his head and threw it at his brother, then he unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them. He looked over at Mycroft. "What is it you actually want?"

"Get dressed, Sherlock," Mycroft said.

"I'm in my home -- I'll wear whatever I want."

"Sherlock --"

"No, Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted. "If you need something from me, tell me. If you don't actually need anything, stop checking up on me and stop harassing John."

"I am leaving. You are both ridiculous." Mycroft said and walked past John who was still laughing before leaving the flat.

Sherlock laughed as his brother pouted, and then laughed at John's laughing. He moved over to the sofa and flopped onto it. "Okay, you were right -- that was quite fun," he said. "I did enjoy that momentary look of panic on his face."

John grinned. "Aren't you glad you listened to me? That was priceless!"

"Well, that should keep him off our back for a while at least," Sherlock said. He rolled onto his side and looked over at John. "Thanks for that. What are your plans tonight? Are you going out?"

"I've got no plans."

"Maybe we should do something . . ."

"We could, if you put some clothes on," John smiled. "May I suggest a jumper? You looked nice."

"A. No, I didn't, B. I don't want to, and C. No, I didn't," Sherlock said. "I want to do something I don't need to get dressed for." He looked up. “Let’s order in.”

"Okay, we can watch a film or something," John suggested.

"Not one of your films," Sherlock said, rolling onto his back again. "Just because I'm in my pants, I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"My films? What do you mean?" 

"Pornography," Sherlock said, glancing over. "Tea, please," he added.

"Right. Like I'm just going to watch porn in the living room with you in your bloody pants," John said, rolling his eyes. He went into the kitchen and started the kettle. "Pick something while I order food."

"I don't know what you're into, do I?" Sherlock said. He sat up. "I don't care what we eat -- you know what I like. You pick. Stop making me do everything all the time."

"I meant pick the movie," John said, calling the Chinese place.

Sherlock turned on the television and scanned the TV guide channel. "Gay or straight?" he called out to John, chuckling to himself.

"No tea for you," John grinned. 

"Cruel," Sherlock said. He tucked his legs underneath him. "Can you turn up the heat or make a fire or something? It's freezing in here."

"Put your clothes on," John laughed. 

"You know I just embarrassed my brother for trying to control my life -- are you looking for me to pull a prank on you as well?" Sherlock leaned down and took off his socks, balling them up and throwing them at John. "Great, now my feet are cold."

"Very childish," John said, sticking his tongue out at Sherlock. 

Sherlock laughed. "You know I was never ridiculous until you moved in," he said. "You are a very silly flatmate."

John shrugged. He went down to get the food. He set it on the coffee table and brought the mugs over before sitting down. 

"Thanks," Sherlock said. "Do you really want me to get dressed properly?"

"No, you don't have to," John said. "I want you to eat."

"Why do you care if I eat?"

"Because I want you to be healthy.”. 

"Why?"

"Because I care about you," he said. 

Sherlock chewed a bit of food, disguising his smile. "I care about you, too," he said quietly before taking another big bite. “I just choose to show it in a less bossy way.”


	4. The Shop

"Sherlock? I need to go to the shop -- want to come with me?" 

"Not hungry," Sherlock said without looking up from his computer.

"I'm not going for food. Come on, come out with me," John said. 

Now Sherlock looked over. "What's going on, John?" he asked suspiciously.

"Mrs Hudson's birthday is coming up and we need to get a gift for her," he said. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I thought it was going to be something fun," he said. "Can't you go on your own? I'll pay, I'll sign the card, but doing nice things is really more your specialty, isn't it?"

"Come along," John said simply, holding the door open. He grinned at Sherlock. 

Sherlock grabbed his coat. "Are you sure --" he paused until they got out onto the street, keeping quiet on the stairs, just in case, "-- it's her birthday? I've not heard her say anything about it."

"She's been mentioning it every day this week," John laughed. 

"Well, I've been busy trying to get us a case," Sherlock said. "And looking after you."

John laughed louder. "Looking after me! Christ, don't let anyone hear you, they might believe it."

"Whatever," Sherlock said. "Keep pretending." He walked for a few moments. "What are we buying her? Is it something you can't carry on your own? Is that why my presence was required?"

"Your presence is required because I require it. Wanted it," he said. "Besides, it’s going to be from both of us."

"All right then," Sherlock said. "But this isn't really my thing, is it, gift giving -- we can get her whatever you think is best."

"We'll see," John smiled, leading the way into a little shop.

Sherlock looked around a little but mainly stood behind John. He felt a bit like he did when he was a child, wandering with his mum through boutiques he didn't have much interest in. A part of him could imagine tugging on John's coat, whining "Let's go, let's go." His mother always treated him to an ice cream if he managed to suffer through those shopping trips. He wondered if John would do the same.

"Do you see anything she might like?" John asked.

"I don't know. I don't know what she likes -- I hardly know her," Sherlock said stupidly, fiddling with some random item on a shelf. "What about a voucher so she can just get what she likes?”

"Oh please, you know her better than I do," John said, looking around still. 

"Well, I don't know -- perfume or flowers? Those are what girls on your television shows like and Mrs Hudson's a girl," Sherlock said.

"We can't be generic, we have to show that we care about her," he said.

"Well, how about this?" Sherlock said, picking up a trinket.

John looked over. “What is it?”

“I have literally no idea.”

John shook his head. "Let's keep looking," he said.

Sherlock inspected the item closely. "I think it's a pencil sharpener. I've seen Mrs Hudson use pencils . . . she might like it," he added, laughing a little as he waved it in front of John's face.

John rolled his eyes and smiled. "You're not even trying," he said. He bent to look at a flower vase before moving along.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Let's use logic instead. What does she like?" He thought for a moment. "Gambling -- she likes gambling. We could buy her a deck of cards and some scratch tickets."

John shook his head. "Let's not encourage bad behaviour," he smiled. 

"Should we just hire her a rent boy for the night?"

John laughed loudly. "Let's not, though I think she'd appreciate that."

"How about a World's Greatest Housekeeper mug?" Sherlock said, laughing again.

"She'll kill both of us!" John grinned.

"Well, what else does the woman do except gamble, flirt with young men and nag about messes?" Sherlock wandered into the next aisle and returned shortly thereafter with something behind his back. "Think about every time Mrs Hudson has come up to the flat since you've moved in -- she's praised your ridiculous sweetness, she harasses me about my messes, and what else does she do . . . especially in the last two weeks since she got that stupid new phone of hers?"

John thought for a moment. "Pictures!" He tried looking around Sherlock. "What did you find?"

"This," Sherlock said, handing John a photo album. "It's quite nice quality and then at least she could do something with all those photos she takes. There's even a place where they can engrave it so we could -- I don't know -- get it engraved or something."

John smiled up at him. "I think that's an excellent idea, Sherlock."

Sherlock quite liked John's smile -- he looked quite proud of Sherlock and that felt pleasing. "All right let's get this over with and we can get ice cream," he said.

John tilted his head. "You want to go for ice cream?" he asked with surprise.

Sherlock got confused for a moment and then realised what had happened. "You're the one who brought it up," he lied. "I'm happy to treat you so just don't question everything, all right?" He took the album to the back.

"Do you want this engraved?" the man asked.

Sherlock nodded and looked at John. "What should it say?"

"Our little family," John said. "And I did not bring up ice cream."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but gave the man permission. "Can we get it wrapped as well?" he asked. 

The man nodded and disappeared. "She's going to know this was all you, you know," Sherlock said to John while they waited. "I've known her longer but have never bought her a present."

"The idea might have been mine but you picked it out. I'll make sure she knows that," John said. "She’ll know anyway. You pretend to be . . . uncaring, but I know the truth. And so does Mrs Hudson. You do all sorts of things you don't even realise -- keeping your experiments confined to the kitchen, bringing in her post when you get ours, giving her little tips for the games she plays. You're a sweet man, Sherlock Holmes," he grinned.

"I know nothing of which you speak," Sherlock said. Then the man came out to show them his work before wrapping it up. "How about that big bow?" Sherlock suggested, pointing and the man added that. Sherlock and John split the costs and headed out.

"So ice cream?" Sherlock said. All of a sudden he really craved it.

"Yes, lead the way," John smiled.

They headed to a little van and Sherlock bought them each a 99 and got a flake in John’s. They walked home together.


	5. The Anniversary

Sherlock finished his cigarette one street away from the surgery. Then he walked down and stood around the door, judging each person as they headed out.

John finished up with his last patient and debated staying late to do paperwork. But then he remembered the date and smiled wide. It could wait. He locked up his office and headed out, bumping right into Sherlock. "Oh! Hi," he said.

"Hello, I've come to meet you at work," Sherlock said pointlessly. 

"Yes, I see," John smiled. "Is there a case?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I just fancied it, I guess. Just wanted to do something different." He turned to start to walk. "Hungry? Want to go get dinner?"

John smiled brightly. "Excellent," he said. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"I was thinking Angelo’s," Sherlock said. "That work?"

"Of course," he smiled.

Sherlock hailed them a cab and on the way over, he asked about John's day. When they arrived, Sherlock held the door open for John and they sat down at the small table at front. Angelo smiled when he saw them and headed over.

"Hello, gentlemen," Angelo said. "How are you two this evening?"

"Excellent," Sherlock said. 

John smiled. He ordered a bottle of wine and asked for a candle for the table, winking at Sherlock.

Sherlock watched Angelo set down the candle and then disappear. Then he glanced at John. Was he trying to tease Sherlock? Angelo brought the wine back, pouring two glasses.

Sherlock took a quick sip and then set the glass down. "So what's with the candle? Are you doing a joke I should understand?" he asked.

John’s brows dipped in confusion. "It's not a joke. I don't think so, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked. Did this have something to do with Angelo? Sherlock felt a little panic that John was involved in something that excluded him. 

"I was surprised you remembered, honestly. And that you thought to do something like this --something so romantic," he smiled. He reached out and took Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock looked at their hands and then at John. "Are we . . . on a date?" he asked.

"Um, yes. Of course, we are," John said.

"I-- uh, what do you mean 'I remembered'?" Sherlock asked tentatively. "Remembered that we had a date?"

"No, our anniversary. One month," John said. "Are you trying to trick me -- have you got something else planned tonight?"

"Have we . . . have we been dating . . . the whole time?"

John flushed lightly. "Yes . . . I mean, we've been on several dates. Granted they’ve not been traditional dates, but we never really have been traditional, have we?”

"Right . . ." Sherlock said, closing his eyes for a second. He remembered all the time they'd spend together since they met. They had had so much fun together. He opened his eyes. "Have they been all right . . . the dates, I mean -- did I do okay?"

John grinned. "Yes, perfect," he said.

"Do you want to keep going on dates with me? The same kind of things?"

"I do, yeah. I've been enjoying my time with you. Haven’t you?"

Sherlock looked up as Angelo came and set the plates down. He dropped his hand from John's and picked up a fork, nodding at Angelo. When he was gone, Sherlock said, "Can I ask a question?"

John glanced at his now empty hand and pulled it back slowly. "Yeah, anything."

"Dates . . . don't they usually involve . . . other things? Like things more than ice cream?" he asked. He felt a bit overwhelmed, quite surprised and a little stupid. He wanted to make sure he was entirely understanding what John thought was happening.

"What do you mean? Like fancy dinners or dancing or something?" John asked.

"No, John," Sherlock said. "I don't mean that. I mean, other things, like more than holding-hands-over-a-dinner-table things."

"Oh, right . . .” John mixed his food around a bit as he nodded. "Yes, they typically involve kissing and, well, we live together and are comfortable with each other and we have been dating a month so . . .” He trailed off. "I just thought we were taking it slow since you never . . . “

"I never what? Kissed someone? I've kissed someone, John," Sherlock said. "I've even thought about kissing you before so please don't act like I'm an idiot."

"That's not what I meant. I just meant you never tried to kiss me or anything like that. Which makes sense now that I realise you didn't know we were dating.”

"Why didn't you tell me we were dating?"

"I thought you knew," John said. He smiled softly. "You're the genius."

"Did you really or were you taking advantage of my . . . " Sherlock tried to find the right word but couldn't. "Did you really think I knew?"

"I thought you did. I wouldn't take advantage of you like that."

Sherlock looked at John suspiciously. "I guess I'm just saying, if I had known, perhaps I would have tried a bit more . . ." he said, his mouth curling into a smile.

John bit his lip as his own mouth twitched up. "How?”

"Like . . . wouldn't you like to know?" Sherlock said, laughing a little as he took a big sip of wine. He picked up his fork and took a few bites of his meal.

John smiled properly. "I can be patient," he said, going back to his meal.

"Does that mean you're going to keep making me wait?" 

John shook his head. "I was only waiting because I thought you wanted to."

"Well, I don't," Sherlock said. "Unless you do," he added quietly.

"I don't want to wait," he said.

"Cheeky," Sherlock said. "Finish your dinner."

"Now you’re nagging me about eating – you must care about me," John said, sipping his wine instead. 

"You know," Sherlock said, settling back in his chair. "It's a good thing I figured out we've been dating all this time. Perhaps if I hadn't, we'd go on sleeping alone for the rest of our lives."

"I'd have proposed eventually," John grinned. "Though that might have funny to watch."

"Proposed marriage or shagging?" Sherlock laughed.

John grinned and laughed with him. "Marriage. But I would have brought up kissing at some point as well.” 

"Are you so old-fashioned to believe in no sex before marriage?"

"Obviously not," John laughed. "I didn't know how you felt about it seeing as I thought this whole month you didn't even want to kiss me."

"You need to be better at observing," Sherlock said. "Now granted, I did not realise we were dating, but dating is not really my area, is it? But I think it's been quite obvious I fancy you, yet you were clueless. Has working with me taught you nothing, John Watson?"

"I think you should stop chit chatting and kiss me already."

"I don't want our first one to be here -- in front of him," Sherlock said nodding toward the back. "I'd like it to be just you and me, please." He finished off his wine. "All my best times have been when it's just you and me."

John smiled. "Okay," he said. He waved to Angelo and got their food packed up to go, finishing off his wine.

As soon as they were on the pavement, Sherlock lifted his hand for a taxi and slid in back, close to John. "I'm looking forward to being home," he said casually as he looked out the window, his hand moving over and resting on John's thigh.

John flushed lightly and smiled, covering his hand. "Me too."

When they arrived, Sherlock handed the driver some notes and rushed them towards the door. Before he pushed it open, he turned to John. "When we get inside, something's going to be different but many, many things will be precisely the same, right?" he asked.

John nodded. "Right."

Sherlock rushed them inside and up to the flat. He took off his coat and waited for John to do the same and then he swept his arms around him, leaning in for a long, slow kiss.

Everything happened so quickly John hardly registered it. But they were finally kissing and he returned it eagerly, arms looping around Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock held the kiss, squeezing John tight. Then he pulled his head back and looked at John. "All right?" he asked, not entirely sure if he was asking about John himself or about the quality of the kiss.

John nodded. "Yes," he murmured, smiling up at Sherlock. "Yes, that was perfect."

"It was," Sherlock said, smiling back before moving into the room. "See? I told you I knew how to do it."

"I never said you couldn't!" John laughed, following after him. 

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "But you weren't entirely sure I could."

"I wasn't entirely sure you wanted to," John said. "It's different."

Sherlock walked back toward John. He kissed him again. "I do want to," he said. He picked up John's hand and pulled on it lightly. "Do you want to go into the other room with me?"

John nodded, lacing their fingers together.

"Your room or my room?"

"Let's go to mine," John said, turning to pull Sherlock along.

Sherlock followed John. His head was in a bit of a spin but somehow it felt good -- almost like being high but better, much better.

John pulled Sherlock into his room and leaned up to kiss him again, slowly and deeply this time. Sherlock fell into the kiss, pulling their bodies together as his hands moved up and down John's back. He moaned softly as he stepped them toward the bed, falling onto it. John moved over Sherlock, settling with their legs tangled as they kissed. He rolled his hips as his body got warmer and warmer.

"Get your clothes off," Sherlock said, pulling at John's jumper. "Please," he added.

"So polite," John smiled, sitting up over Sherlock and taking his time to remove his clothes while gazing down at him.

Sherlock watched John move. His body ached in a way it hadn't in a long time. "Now get mine off," he said.

John grinned. "I've been waiting to hear you say that since we ran from that cabbie that first night," he said. He took his time, peeling clothes off Sherlock's body so he could touch and admire every inch he exposed.

"God, John," Sherlock said in a low moan. "I didn't know --I'm sorry . .. but I know now."

John traced along Sherlock's sides and rest both hands on Sherlock's chest, playing with his nipples. "You know now," he murmured, leaning to kiss him again.

Sherlock's body arched against John's. "Yes," he mumbled. He reached down John's nude body, gripping his arse cheek. John rolled his hips and groaned softly, nipping and kissing along Sherlock's jaw and neck.

Sherlock tipped his head back. "Everywhere," he mumbled. His body rocked against John's, moving the bed with them.

"Great minds think alike," John said as he moved lower. He kissed and licked and bit over Sherlock's collarbone and shoulder, down his chest, spending a good minute teasing his nipple with his mouth.

"I love that . . ." Sherlock said. "Please don't stop."

John moved over to the one, biting this time as he licked the bud. Sherlock felt such a need to touch John. He let his hands roam up and down his body and he watched John kissing him.  
John continued down, kissing his way over Sherlock's stomach and hips, his hand already stroking Sherlock's cock.

"Fuck," Sherlock called loudly. "It's good . . ." He pushed himself up on his elbows, watching John between his legs. "That's good, John, it's good."

John moved in, following the curve of Sherlock's hip before licking a long stripe along the shaft. Meeting Sherlock's gaze, he took Sherlock into his mouth.

"God, it's torture," Sherlock said with a wicked smile. He fell back onto the bed. "Why have you been hiding this from me?"

John grinned and took him deeper, slowly bobbing his head as he hollowed his cheeks.

Sherlock writhed against the bed, his hand squeezing John's shoulder. "Are you going to let me fuck you?" he asked quietly.

John pulled off with a surprised pop. "God yes," he breathed, crawling back up Sherlock's body to kiss him hard.

"Do you have any condoms?" Sherlock asked, reaching out, scrambling just to touch John somewhere.

"Top drawer," John said, stretching to reach one. He took out the lube as well.

"Thank god," Sherlock said, shifting himself to crawl over top of John. "I am so full of want, John Watson," he said, smiling and leaning down to nip at his bottom lip.

John moved to steal a proper kiss. "Take anything you want," he said. "I want to give it to you."

Sherlock lowered himself down John's body, trailing his mouth over his chest and abdomen. He covered John's cock with kisses and licks, making it wet before he began to stroke it steadily. He looked up at John to watch his reactions -- Sherlock wanted to everything to make John feel as good as he felt in this moment. Then he grabbed John's hand and led it to his cock. Then he shifted, separating John's legs even more, as he spilled lube into his hand and ran his fingertips over John's balls and hole, before slowly pushed a finger inside him. "God," he exhaled as his other hand held his own cock.

John arched when he felt Sherlock's finger, groaning softly. He kept stroking, gazing at Sherlock.

Sherlock's finger began to pulse, invading John's tightness. He slid in another finger as he felt the muscle accepting him. "God, you're . . . everything," Sherlock mumbled, leaning down and kissing the tops of John's thigh.

"You too," John murmured. He reached down and played with Sherlock's hair, carding his fingers through and tugging lightly.

Sherlock kept moving his hand, his hips beginning to rock. "Ready?" he asked softly.

John nodded. "Yes . . . Sherlock, please.”

Sherlock gave him a smile and then pressed himself up, grabbing a condom and carefully rolling it on. He moved, holding himself as he lined up and slowly pushed inside John. He leaned down carefully, dropping his hands to either side of John's shoulders. He kissed his mouth. "Okay?" he whispered.

John stayed still as he was filled, feeling his body stretch. He held Sherlock's shoulder and the back of his head, gazing up at him. Sherlock began a slow rocking movement, pressing deeper into John. He kissed him again and then dropped his head to John's ear, panting softly against his hair.

John turned his head towards Sherlock and gripped his hair harder. "Sherlock . . . harder," he moaned.

Sherlock let a groan escape from his throat as he let his hips go. "Fuck, John," he exhaled. "It's so good." He could feel heat and tension fill every muscle in his body. "Do you like this?"

John nodded, finding his mouth for another hard kiss. 

"I want to come," Sherlock moaned. "All right? I'm sorry . . . it's too good . . . I'm so close."

Sherlock nodded, kissing Sherlock's mouth over and over. He started to stroke himself quickly, so he could come too. Sherlock squeezed his eyes tight and let the rest of his body go. He thrust hard and steady and then called out loudly as he pushed in one last time, releasing everything. He mumbled John's name over and over as he gasped for air. John moaned as he felt Sherlock let go. He came between them, writhing with the waves of pleasure.

"Jesus, John," Sherlock said. He stayed still for a moment and then moved to get rid of the condom. He rolled to the side and looked up at the ceiling. "So we've been dating and now we just did all that . . . I guess that can only mean one thing."

John closed his eyes and caught his breath slowly. "What's that?" 

"Love," Sherlock said.

John looked over at Sherlock and nodded. "Yes," he said.

"Good then," Sherlock said. "So this has all worked quite well, don't you think?"

John nodded reaching over to take Sherlock's hand. "I'm really happy, Sherlock. I do love you."

"I love you too, John Watson," Sherlock said. "Thanks for making me realise it."

“I did no such thing,” John said.

“You did,” Sherlock said. “You showed me precisely what I couldn’t see.”


End file.
